Three's A Crowd
by palmtreedragons
Summary: "So, wait, angels are real, too? Angels and demons and vampires and—" "Yes, Adam," Dean sighed. Adam threw his hands in the air. "Next, you'll be telling me unicorns are real. Are unicorns real? Because this is a weird day, and I feel like you're gonna say yes." Adam lives AU. *Hiatus until further notice*
1. Prologue

**Oh. My. Goodness.**

 **I feel absolutely horrible. 38 DAYS?! I had no idea it was that long. But I'm here now, better than ever, with tons of new ideas! Not sure how often I'll be posting with going back to school and all in a few days, but I'll try because I really like this one.**

 **A/N #1: I'm putting my other SPN fic on hold for now because I'm having the worst writer's block ever with that one and it's driving me crazing because I love that one too. I'll come back to it eventually, but not now.**

 **A/N #2: This fic will be my interpretation if what would've happened if Adam lived. I'm really excited about the possibilities of this one, so please read, review, and comment or criticize. I'm always up for some tough love if you've got any pointers :)**

 **Sadly, in my month long absence, I still have not gained the rights to SPN or any of its characters. I'm just a fan who has too much time on their hands.**

 **~palmtreedragons**

* * *

Dean kicked down the door to the tomb, watching as dust and debris flew into the light piercing the air. God, he hated sewers. He nudged a corpse, now nothing but bones, out of the way as he made his way farther into the dank room. Before Dean was a coffin. Dean quickly observed the blood on the wood. _Fresh blood_ , he thought, every nerve alighting with adrenaline. Dean opened the coffin.

 _I guess I just found Kate. Well, most of her._

* * *

"Get away from him!" Sam barked.

Kate looked between Sam and Adam. "What is going on?"

"You listen to me."

"It's really her, okay?" Adam said.

"There was too much blood. Your mother's dead. There was too much blood in the vents!" Sam shoved Adam away from Kate. Adam took hold of the shotgun.

"Adam!" Kate called.

"Shoot it!"

"He's crazy! Honey, it's me!"

Adam looked helpless and confused, eyes darting back and forth between his mother and his brother.

"Look—Adam!"

"Honey, it's me!"

"Look, that's not your mother!"

"Baby, please!"

"Shoot it! It's not human!"

Adam aimed the gun at Kate. Then he smirked. "I know." The butt of the gun collided with Sam's chin, knocking him out cold.

* * *

Dean was halfway to opening another coffin when he heard the noise. At first Dean dismissed it, for it was far too quiet to have actually been made. But no—that was it again. Dean, eyes hard, laid his hands upon the coffin, bracing himself for what lay inside. With a shove, the lid came off.

First Dean saw the blood. Lots, but that was quickly less of a problem as Dean realized who it belonged to.

"Adam?" Dean whispered in shock. Blinking from his stunned state, Dean quickly reached into the coffin, hands slipping on the real Adam's neck as he tried to find a pulse. _There's too much blood. Even if he wasn't dead—_

Dean stopped his thought mid sentence. Horrified, he realized that there was a pulse.

* * *

Sam knew he was in trouble when he awoke. That was a given, being tied to a table and all. He groaned, eyes taking in 'Kate,' who was picking at her nails with the tip of a knife.

"Silver," Sam spoke aloud. "No wonder none of the tests worked. You're not shape-shifters. You're ghouls."

"You know, I find that term racist," the ghouls shot back, waving her knife. She leaned in, smelling Sam. He watched with disgust as she traveled from his hand to his neck, coming to a stop at his ear.

Kate made a sound of delight. "Fresh meat. So much better than what we're used to."

"I should've known. It was the fresh kills that threw me. Ghouls don't usually go after the living. See, you're just filthy scavengers, feeding off the dead—taking the form of the last corpse you choke down."

The ghoul that claimed to be Adam pitched in. "And their thoughts. And their memories. Like Adam, for instance."

"Well, we are what we eat."

"You're monsters." Sam spat.

Kate drew the knife across Sam's arm, drawing blood.

Sam heard Adam's voice: "You know, you use that word a lot, Sam." Sam grimaced as Kate began to drink Sam's dripping blood.

Adam set the knife into the table, too close to Sam's head for his own comfort. "But I don't think you know what it means."

Kate looked to Adam. "His blood, it tastes different."

Adam ignored her. "Our father was a monster? Why? Because of what he ate? He never hurt anyone, Sam. Living, anyway."

Kate pulled the knife free of the table. "No. He was no monster. But the thing that killed him was. A monster named John Winchester."

* * *

Dean, for the moment, was glad of all the grave injuries and emergencies throughout his childhood. He was quick to make a tourniquet to try and stop the bleeding, using his torn jacket sleeve. Most of the bleeding came from the young man's arm, where several bites were taken. Dean prayed no major arteries were torn. Looking around frantically, Dean broke a piece of metal off of a nearby coffin and attempted to open the door. No use.

"Holy crap," he muttered. _Dammit, I've got to get to Sammy. God knows what's going on up there._

Dean quickly hatched another idea. Stacking the coffins, he used the metal he broke to smash the stained window above. Turning back, Dean eyed Adam, pale and bleeding. _He probably won't make it_ , the hunter in him reasoned. _And if he did, how could you possibly get him out the window, and alive?_

For a brief moment, the hunter in him almost won. It would be so much quicker to get to Sam by himself. Dean quickly cast that idea from his mind, leaping from the coffins to the limp body of his half-brother.

* * *

"Like you and your brother. Inseparable." Adam was leering over Sam, who was bleeding from his side.

"Actually, it was very hard to get you on your own," Kate spoke.

"Like you said, Sam, the only thing you can count on is family."

Kate drank more of Sam's blood, licking her fingers once she was through. "And for twenty years, we lived like rats."

"Graveyard after graveyard," Adam continued, "all that stinking flesh."

"Then we thought, 'Hey, why not move up to fresher game?'"

"And we knew just where to start." Adam dug the knife's point into the cut previously made on Sam's arm. "Revenge—it's never over, is it, Sam?"

"First, it was John's cop friend, and then his slut, and then his son." Kate pointed her knife towards herself and Adam in turn.

"Then I called John, but the son of a bitch was already dead."

"So I guess you and Dean will have to do instead."

"Dean won't interrupt us this time. We're gonna feed on you nice and slow—like we did with Adam."

Kate smiled. "Oh, and, by the way, he really was your brother. You should know that."

"He was still alive when we took our first bites," Adam's ghoul taunted.

"And he was a screamer." Both Kate and Adam cut into Sam's arms, the blood beginning to pour into bowls placed on the floor.

"Sam, the more you struggle, the faster you're gonna bleed out," Adam warned. "So you might as well lie back and relax."

" _Hey!_ "

From the door, a shotgun went off. Adam was thrown into the wall by a bullet piercing his shoulder.

"Dean, they're ghouls!" Sam shouted. Dean paused before firing at Kate. Dean shot a perfect headshot. The corpse fell, unmoving.

"Which means headshot."

Adam rammed into Dean. Glass shattered around the pair as they flew down. Dean slammed Adam into the ground. After several attempts to smash the head with the broken metal from the coffin, Dean finally landed a winning blow.

"Dean!" Dean rushed to Sam's side, cutting the ropes and tape. Helping Sam upright, Dean used towels from nearby to try and stop the bleeding.

"Come on. Come on. Come on." Dean murmured. Now he had two near-dead brothers to— _No_. Not near-dead. Sam can't die. "Hang on. All right, here we go. Here we go. Hang on, buddy. All right."

Dean watched as Sam managed a "Thank you."

"That's what family's for, right? Keep pressure on that."

* * *

"You sure we should do this?" Sam asked uncertainly.

Dean glanced behind his shoulder, getting a view of the backseat of the impala. He and his brother were leaning against the trunk, trying to plan their next move.

"Ghouls didn't fake those pictures. They didn't fake Dad's journal. Adam was our brother." A moment of silence passed between the two. Sam fidgeted with his bandages around his forearms, more of a habit than actual need.

"You know, I finally get why you and Dad butted heads so much." Dean began. Sam turned and looked at his brother. "You two were practically the same person. I mean, I worshipped the guy, you know? I dressed like him, I acted like him, I listen to the same music. But you were more like him than I will ever be. And I see that now."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You take it any way you want."

Behind them, they heard the creak of a door open and shut. Adam, as Dean would usually say, looked like hell.

"You should probably not be on your feet," Sam suggested. "You lost a lot of blood. It took quite a bit of stitches, but you'll be fine with rest."

Adam eyed the pair warily. "W-where are we?" His voice was hoarse from misuse. Sam heard Kate's ghoul's voice in his head: _He was a screamer_.

Dean nonchalantly looked around. "I dunno. Somewhere in a forest?" Sam internally rolled his eyes. That much was obvious, with the large oaks surrounding them and all.

"My mom—" Adam broke off, his eyes drifting downward. Sam and Dean let the silence fall.

Adam looked up once more, trying to keep his expression neutral. "Who are you?"

"I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean."

"Winchester? As in—"

"Yeah," Dean cut in, not really excited about re-explaining everything to Adam. _This better be the real one, 'cause we've got a lot to cover_. "As in John Winchester."

"The thing that killed my mom. . . ."

"Was a ghoul," Sam explained gently.

"How do you know?"

Sam shrugged with one shoulder. "It's kinda what we do."

"You've got two options, Adam," Dean said. "We can drive you to a hospital and you can get checked in, try and restart your life and all that."

"Or?" Adam asked. _The poor kid must be overwhelmed_.

Sam took a step forward. Dean let his brother talk. Sam was always better with the whole "talking to people" thing. "Or you can come with us. We can teach you to protect yourself from things like that. It's dangerous, but we're family."

"And it's kind of a family business," Dean chimed in. "So, you in?"


	2. Bacon Cheeseburgers

**Sorry for the lack of update guys! And for only 500 words. Just got back from winter break ugh**

 **Anywho I was wondering: should I base this story loosely off of what happens canonically, or should I go my own way with it? Any ideas would be great**

 **Also, nope. I still don't own Sam or Dean. Or Adam. Or Cas. Or Crowley. Or Sherlock. Or the Doctor. Or. . . . You know what? It would be easier to list the things I do own :/**

 **~palmtreedragons**

* * *

It was way too early when the trio stopped at a diner to eat breakfast. Adam, roused from his slumber, was practically dragged from the impala by Dean, hair still sticking up and clothes still in disarray.

"Just wait, kid," Dean had gushed. Sam shuffled behind, also tired, but seemingly very unamused. "This is the best diner in the country. We have to eat at it every time we pass, right, Sammy?" Sam only chuckled.

Adam found himself sitting at a booth, staring blankly at the menu. _It's barely even light out. I can't function this early._

Adam looked up, seeing neither of the two looking at their choices. "What do you guys usually get?"

A waitress came to the table, introducing herself and asking for their orders. She seemed to take a certain liking to Dean.

"My brother and I'll have your bacon cheeseburgers."

"Dean, I'm not having a burger. You're the only person on this planet who eats burgers at four in the morning." Sam then turned to the waitress, Kelly, as her name tag read. "I'll have a salad."

Dean ignored him. "You like burgers, Adam?"

Adam shrugged. "I've never had a bacon cheeseburger."

Dean acted as if he just heard the world was ending. " _What do you mean, you've never had a bacon cheeseburger?_ Kelly, make that three burgers. And add three beers, too."

Even Sam seemed a bit stunned by Adam's confession—so stunned, in fact, that he forgot that Dean changed his order. "How have you made it this far in life and _not_ had a bacon cheeseburger?"

Adam, a bit wide-eyed from Dean and Sam's reactions, could only shrug. _God, it's too early for this_.

When Kelly came back with three plates and three bottles of beer, Dean and Sam watched Adam like a hawk. Adam took a bite.

"Well?"

Adam nearly laughed. "It's pretty good, I guess."

"See, Sammy! A Winchester, if I ever saw one."

Sam groaned. "Dean, I wanted a _salad_ , not a burger."

"Your whole diet thing's crap," Dean said around a mouthful of burger. "You might get thin, but you'll never get happy."

Adam sat there, a bit shocked that Dean donned Adam a Winchester.

"Hey," Dean directed at Adam after a few minutes of bickering with Sam. "You like Metallica?"

"Yeah, sure."

Dean let out a whoop, causing the few staff and customers to stare. "I think we're gonna get along just fine, kid."


	3. Just Another Hunt

**Hope you guys didn't think I died or something. I'm back! :D**

 **And I more than tripled the word count on this with one chap! I've got a lot of stuff due for school this next week, but I'll try to be on as much as possible. Hope you guys like this one! It's a more plotted out chapter, not just some fluff.**

 **Didn't proof read the end because I was so eager to update, so sorry if there's any mistakes.**

 **Au revoir!**

 **~palmtreedragons**

* * *

"You sure you don't need any help?"

"For the last time, Adam, _no_ ," Dean groaned, slamming the trunk of the impala down. He turned to head back inside the motel and get Sam, but instead came face-to-face with his half-brother. He swore loudly, causing Adam to step back. "Cool it, would you?"

"Yeah, sure," the youngest Winchester muttered. Adam knew he was constantly underfoot, but he couldn't really help it. His brothers were going on one of their first hunts since Adam joined their close-knit band of brothers, and _they were leaving him behind_. Adam had spent nearly a month with the Winchesters, and Dean still wasn't convinced Adam was able to keep himself alive for one measly hunt. It was only some demon, anyway. Dean reemerged from the motel room, Sam with a duffel bag in tow. Adam stuffed his fists in his pockets as Sam loaded the final luggage in the backseat.

"We'll only be gone a day, two at the most, okay?" Sam asked. Adam only nodded. Dean got in the driver's seat and revved the engine. The sound of heavy metal filled the virtually abandoned parking lot. Sam climbed into the passenger seat, and Dean was about to close the door, when Adam called out.

"Not even going to say goodbye?" he asked. Dean glared at him.

"Look, we're going. You're staying," Dean stated heatedly. "Then we're going to come back. You won't even miss us. Go get addicted to some soap opera or something."

"I'm sure that's what you were doing when you were my age."

Dean was fully out of the car now, and was taking a few steps towards Adam, despite Sam's protests from inside the car. "I've been at this since I was a kid. You're gonna get yourself killed if we turn you loose."

"You don't know that."

Dean stared at Adam for a long moment. He then sighed, and walked back to the driver's seat, muttering a "Yes, I do," before slamming the door shut.

* * *

The drive was short and quiet. Sam was silently scrolling through articles on his laptop.

"Alright," Dean huffed, an hour into the trip. "Spill."

Sam frowned, closing his laptop. "Don't you think you were a little hard on him?"

"Psh. Yeah, right. How do you think dad would've handled that? I was saving his ass."

Sam took a deep breath. They were only about fifteen minutes from the town, where a man went postal and murdered his family before committing suicide. That alone wasn't enough to pique the interest of the hunters; another man, described by his now hospitalized employer, was said to have black eyes while trying to kill the whole office, then himself. "I'm just saying, he isn't as clumsy and new as you think. He's been trying really hard. And sure, he hasn't gotten a lot of training—"

"'Hasn't gotten a lot of training'? He's had _no_ training."

"None from you," Sam said quietly. "I've been trying to help him here and there, and he's not completely incompetent."

Dean let out a bitter laugh.

"Why wouldn't you let him go on this hunt?" asked Sam accusingly. Both watched as a sign emerged from the semi-darkness of dawn. It was almost missed due to the thick, dark pine trees lining either side of the road as far as their eyes could see. They passed an old, dead oak tree, twisted and ancient-looking.

"You talk to the family of the postal office worker," Dean said curtly. "I'll take the crime scene."

Dean refused to speak the rest of the ride.

* * *

By noon, Dean was ankle-deep in bat-shit-crazy. He grimaced as he lowered the tarp covering one of the victims.

"Told you, didn't I?" the stout officer with a thick southern drawl, Evans, spoke with a grim look. "Bashed the head right in. And went to town on the body, too."

"What was this done with? A bat?"

"A pipe. And . . . some other stuff." Dean shot Evans a questioning glance. Evans then clarified, "The guy seemed to use anything he could lay his hands on. And I mean anything." Dean made a face, which Evans nodded in agreement to.

"Was this the same at the Johnson's home?"

"Yup."

Dean nodded to himself for a moment, before rising from his crouch at the corpse's side. "Has anyone acted . . . _strange_ lately?"

Evans didn't even think before he spoke. "Old Man Joseph. He's the sweetest guy in town, would never hurt a fly. Yesterday I got a call from his neighbors. They said he was acting real weird."

"Did they smell sulfur?"

"Yup." Dean ignored the typical "How did you know?" question that always followed.

 _Got him_. "Can you give me directions to his house?" asked Dean. Evans nodded. Dean began to walk out the gory office building when his phone rang. "Hey, Sam. What's up?"

* * *

Sam got nothing from visiting the family, except for a very detailed story from the wife about how her husband coached their son's soccer team, was a boy scout leader, and a model worker and citizen.

"I just don't get it," one of the officers, who was also interrogating the family for the police station, said once they were outside. "I mean, Frank was the best guy. I used to go bowling with him, you know. He always used the thirteen. . . ." Sam began to stop listening from then on. The only connection he could think of between the two possessed men was that there was something going on behind closed doors, something setting this demon off.

"Who did you say you were with again?" asked the officer as Sam approached his rental car. Dean insisted on taking the impala.

Sam turned and gave his practiced smile. "FBI. We'll be calling you sometime soon for follow ups."

The officer nodded. "Weird," he muttered, "FBI sending two agents out. Especially people that young—younger than you, even."

 _Dean must've been to the station_. Sam lifted an eyebrow. "You think I look older than my partner?" _If Dean heard this, he would never let it go_.

"Definitely. He stopped by the station earlier." Sam rolled his eyes. Now he's just being offensive. "Kid didn't even look twenty, wore a suit a few sizes too big, short light hair—"

Then it clicked. Dean never was at the station. Sam quickly excused himself and whipped out his phone.

" _Hey, Sam. What's up?"_

* * *

It took twenty minutes to get to Old Man Joseph's house, and Dean was white-knuckling it the whole way.

"This is exactly why I didn't want him to come," Dean muttered under his breath. "I knew he was going to do something stupid."

"He might not've if you let him come," Sam pointed out.

Dean turned on him. "Oh, so this is my fault?"

"Dean, I'm not saying that—"

"Oh, I think that's exactly what you're trying to say." Dean's voice began to raise.

"I just don't see why you didn't want him to come. Does he bother you that much?" Sam found his voice was raised, too.

"I just didn't want him to get _hurt_ ," Dean shouted.

Sam paused. He looked at Dean, who was staring intently at the road, as if he could slow down time with just his willpower. This same scenario flashed before his eyes, but long ago. Dean had acted the same way on Sam's first hunt.

"He's just a kid. He hasn't seen most of the stuff we have, and he's eager to see it all. It changes you, this stuff." Dean's voice was just above a whisper. "He's our little brother. I just don't want him to get hurt."

Sam, for a moment, was at a loss for words. They were on a dirt road, now, far away from the town. Thick pines and shrubberies covered what wasn't worn down by the steady stream of cars. Old Man Joseph's nearest neighbor was a half-mile away, and hadn't seen him for hours. Anything could have happened.

When they pulled up to the small, rickety cabin, the sky was beginning to grow dark. Two cars were parked out front, one old and rusted, the other shiny and new. Most likely a rental car, and most likely Adam's. Dean quickly shut off the engine and grabbed his pistol, Sam following his lead. Sam made sure to bring Ruby's knife; if they needed to act quick, stabbing would sure be a lot quicker than an exorcism. Sam slid the knife in the back of his belt.

Both got out of the impala. Sam winced, forgetting how cold it got towards night until the stinging of icy wind attacked his hands and face. He quickly shrugged it off. Sam and Dean each held their flashlights and guns with perfect form, treading quietly towards the front door. Sam stayed behind as Dean mounted the steps and crossed the porch. He turned back upon finding it locked, motioning that they should find a way around back. The dirt was dry and rocky, and roots threatened to pull at their feet. Sam kept his body alert, looking for something— _anything_ —to show that Adam was okay. As they approached the back of the house, Sam noticed a small garden underneath a window on the back wall of the cabin. The blinds were shut, casting small golden bars of light across the ground. Sam became aware that it was dark now. The trees only blocked more of the final straggling rays of sunlight. Save for the flashlights and the window light, the rest of the world was black and unknown.

As Dean and Sam approached the back window, the flashlights began to flash, before giving out completely. Sam could hear Dean just barely conceal a curse. They crept closer to the window, now relying solely on hearing. All Sam could hear was Dean's breathing and footsteps beside his own. Only a few yards away from the small patch of light, Sam could make out a figure, laying slumped in a pile on the ground, a pool of blood surrounding his body. Sam breathed a sigh of relief when he was able to identify the deceased as Joseph, not Adam.

Then Sam noticed the person standing on the opposite side of the corpse, holding what looked to be a gun. His features were cast in shadow, just barely visible from streaks of golden light, as he was standing just on the edge of the light and the dark.

"Looks like you finally found me. I was wondering when you'd come." Sam couldn't tell through the darkness, but he thought he saw Adam grin, and his eyes turn black.

* * *

Dean knew he was in trouble when he heard a gunshot, and it wasn't from Sam or himself. He quickly, blindly, dived to his side, and into the darkness. Going into this, Dean's priorities were to get Adam, slay the sucker that was on a killing spree, and get out. But now that the demon was inside Adam—now the demon was untouchable. But if it didn't know that, they would have the upper hand. Dean staggered to his feet, just in time to hear Sam grunt, the shuffling of feet, and another gunshot.

Dean waited, not moving, not breathing. Someone had to be shot. There was no other noise; if the fight was still on, there would be the sound of fighting, or of injury. But it was dead silent. Dean wasn't sure who he hoped was shot.

"Dean?"

Dean let out a long sigh, his nerves not entirely unwinding. "Sam?"

Dean felt blindly through the dark, eventually landing a hand on his brother. Sam was crouched on the ground. Dean lowered himself to his brother's level, his foot making a thud as it collided with something. Once again cursing his blindness, Dean nearly laughed as he found himself grabbing a flashlight. Giving it a good shake, it lit up the small clearing. Dean's luck ran out there, as he saw Adam. His heart was in his throat for a moment at the sight of blood. But Sam knew what he was doing, already doing damage control. A wound to the gut was a lot easier than a wound to the chest. Dean took in the demon knife, discarded and bloodied, forgotten by Sam's side.

So much for just another hunt.

* * *

The ride home was exhausting. Sam has offered to drive, but Dean refused adamantly. He couldn't sleep, even if he tried. Dean could never sleep after intense fights, as if the adrenaline stayed for just a bit too long in his veins. His fingers still twitched and he didn't think even Metallica could sooth him.

Dean heard a rustle from the back seat. Sam was softly snoring in the passenger side, and Adam, like the last case they worked, was laying bandaged up in the back seat. Dean glanced in the mirror, and Adam's bleary eyes blinked tiredly back. Dean looked back to the road, content with remaining in silence. Another rest stop passed by. Dean mentally wondered if it was bad if they stopped at a motel on the way to their old motel.

"'M sorry." Dean glanced back to the mirror. Adam was staring at the roof of the car. Dean let out a sigh. Not a sigh of relief, or anger, or despair. Just a sigh. He readjusted his grip on the wheel. They passed that one twisted oak. It wouldn't be that long until they were back. Dean could easily not speak to Adam the rest of the ride. It was so easy to just imagine Adam wasn't here. That it was just he and his brother, driving back home from just an ordinary hunt. It was easy to pretend things were normal.

But Dean glanced back anyway. It was hard to tell if Adam was asleep. It was almost dawn now, and Dean marveled in the fact that it had only been a day since they had said goodbye to Adam. Dean never saw any resemblance between he and his brother and Adam. Dean couldn't picture that they shared a dad. But laying there in the back seat, all Dean could see was Sammy when he was younger, and their dad driving the car. It had been Sam and Dean and occasionally their dad, when he wasn't on hunts. Then it was just Sam and Dean. Now, though. . . .

"My dad never wanted me to hunt." Adam opened his eyes, craning his head to see his eldest brother's profile, lit by the headlights reflecting off the asphalt in front on the impala. "I was kind of a screw up. He never taught me anything."

Adam stared for a long moment in wonder. "How'd you learn?" he croaked.

Dean couldn't help but smile at the thought. "An old friend of my dad's—or, _our_ dad's, I guess I should say. He's kind of a genius in the hunting community."

Adam gave a weak smile. Dean couldn't hold a grudge forever, but he surprised even himself by relenting so quickly. _I guess I've got a soft spot for him_.

Dean knew where they would go next, and with determination he spoke "We should head there next."

Adam, almost drifting off again, furrowed his brow. "Where?"

"To Bobby's."


	4. Preoccupied

**I have not fallen off the face of the planet, for those who were wondering. It's been pretty chaotic with my end of the year competition for band coming up and this pre-high school stuff, but I managed to get a bit done!**

 **More good news: not only am I going to have my computer this weekend, but I'm going to try and update a new story in the next few days. (No promises, but I'll try.)**

 **Hopefully I can update again today. :)**

 **~palmtreedragons**

* * *

Dean lifted his fist, knocking on the door. A few footsteps could be heard, before the door swung open.

Dean grinned his happy-go-easy grin. "Hey, Bobby—" Dean stopped suddenly, blinking in shock. "Alright. . . . I'm gonna pretend you _didn't_ just punch me."

"You haven't answered your phone, _ya idjit!_ " Bobby all but screamed. Well, Dean would be concerned if Bobby _wasn't_ yelling at him for some reason or another.

"We've been a little preoccupied—"

" _'Preoccupied'_? The bloody apocalypse is upon us and you're _preoccupied_?"

Sam walked up to the porch, a duffel bag slung on his shoulder and a smile on his face. "Hey, Bobby—"

" _'Preoccupied'_? That's the best you idiots got?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. Dean slowly shook his head at his brother, silently motioning to remain quiet. Bobby shook his head at them in a mix of anger and exasperation, with perhaps a bit of relief as well.

"Of all the idiotic, unthoughtful, stupid, careless. . . ." Bobby continued to list some very negative adjectives, Sam and Dean standing silently in front of him like children being scolded by their mother.

Adam strolled up to the large house, eyes scanning anything and everything in sight. He hadn't been too immersed into the world of hunting, and he was eager to learn something. His things were limited to one bag, which was thrown over his shoulder. Walking to the porch, Adam could only stare at the gruff old man with a baseball cap perched on his head, going red in the face as he hollered. Adam was shocked, to put it mildly. A man that could have the hardcore monster-killing duo hang their heads in shame was a man to be reckoned with.

And just as Adam was about to conceive second thoughts about meeting the legendary hunter, Bobby Singer laid his eyes on him.

"Who're you?" he asked, his voice gravelly and accusing and his words terse.

"A-Adam, sir." _God, he stuttered._

Bobby blinked. Adam looked helplessly at his brothers, who looked back at him with pity. Neither of them looked inclined to speak up at this point.

"Once again, who are you?"

"I'm, uh, I'm John Winchester's son. Er, other son." Bobby blinked once more, looking back to Sam and Dean. He looked at Adam again, eyeing him head-to-toe.

"Oh," Bobby said simply. "Preoccupied."

* * *

". . . So we decided to bring him here," Dean finished, propping his feet on the table and leaning back in his chair, a fresh beer in his hand. He had finished recounting the tale of Adam in the kitchen—Sam only interrupting a handful of times to correct Dean's stretches in the story.

Sam walked back to the table, plate and sandwich clad. Casting an annoyed look towards Dean, Sam shoved the drity boots off the counter and set his plate down. "He's actually pretty okay," he conceded. "And he really wants to learn what we do."

"And that's a good thing?" Bobby asked, eyes wide. Sam had to admit, that was a good point.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, we've been babysitting for almost two months now. Can't you take him for just a little bit?"

"You want me to— _Since when did you two idiots think I ran a daycare?!_ "

Sam swallowed a bite of his sandwich. "You always took us in when dad went off. That had to be a lot harder than one almost-adult."

Bobby sighed, walking to the doorway. Dean leaned in towards Sam, whispering about how great it would be to be off of Adam-duty. Bobby could hear Dean's whispering, of course. (Dean was never good at quiet.) Bobby chose instead to look into the main room to see the boy in question. Adam was staring intently at something floating in a jar that resembled a foot of . . . _something_. He gave the jar a poke. _Well, he sure acts like Dean. Maybe not as gutsy, which might not be a bad thing_.

Bobby turned back to the elder Winchesters, giving a hard stare. Neither Dean nor Sam could deny a shred of fear went through them. Maybe asking Bobby to babysit was pushing it. . . .

"Two days." The boys blinked rather stupidly. "I expect you at noon on Sunday, alright?" Sam nodded, and Dean leaped from his chair. Grabbing both his and his brother's luggage, Dean yelled a brief thank you to Bobby before running out the door. Sam shook Bobby's hand, before saying a more polite thank you and goodbye and rushing out the door, too.

Bobby rolled his eyes. _Those two will be the death of me. And now there's a third one._

Walking back to the door, Bobby cleared his throat. Adam, who was discreetly picking through some discarded papers, turned so quickly at the noise that the papers went flying. Bobby raised an eyebrow as Adam scrambled to collect them. Adam gave Bobby a sheepish smile once he had put the papers back as best he could, muttering another apology. Bobby sighed, walking over to one of the many bookshelves.

"So," Adam began, cautiously, "where's Sam and Dean?"

"They went out." Bobby plucked a few dusty, thick books out from their spots, before heading to another shelf.

"I thought they were going to teach me to hunt." Bobby couldn't miss the dejected tone in the boy's voice if he tried.

"Nope." Bobby turned, closing the distance between him and Adan in a few strides. Bobby dropped the heavy stack into the boy's arms, who nearly dropped them due to the unexpected weight. "I am."

"What are these?" Adam shifted the books into one arm, using his free one to open the title-less book on top.

"You wanted to learn to hunt. Everything you need to know's in those books. I'll be back in an hour."

Adam looked up at Bobby, shock, disappointment, and more shock rendering him momentarily speechless. Before Adam could get another word out, Bobby shut the front door.

* * *

Bobby just wanted to buy some ammunition, but he ran into Rufus. Hurrying as to not waste time, Bobby was headed to the counter when Rufus entered the store.

"Hey, Singer!" Rufus strolled up, giving Bobby a few solid pats on the back.

"Nice to see ya, Rufus, but I gotta—"

"You'll never guess what I just saw on my trip to Colorado."

"Listen, Rufus—"

"C'mon, guess."

"Rufus, I gotta go. Kinda in a hurry and all." Bobby politely smiled—something he didn't do often, mind you.

Rufus frowned. "What's got you in a hurry?

Bobby mentally weighed his options. Rufus was a close friend, and to be honest, one of his only friends still alive. But he was also a bit of a gossip. If word got around that the John Winchester had another son, an _untrained_ son, the list of hunters, demons, and other sons of bitches who would paint a target on Adam's back was endless. "Sam and Dean are over."

Rufus scoffed. "They're big boys, Singer. They can hold down the fort for a while. I haven't seen you in ages!" Another thing about Rufus: he liked to talk. "So, I was in Colorado when. . . ."

* * *

It took two hours for Bobby to separate himself from Rufus. _This is exactly why I don't have friends. They're too . . . clingy and talky_.

The sun was nearing the horizon, and Bobby still needed to finish his errands. Bobby drove into the forest, away from town. He didn't need to go too far; Bobby needed a dark space off the hiking trail where nobody would go prodding around. And Bobby knew the perfect one. But of course, there were complications. A county sheriff stood at the entrance to Bobby's usual spot in the woods, just off the road. Bobby didn't slow down, and nodded politely to the officer as he passed. _Well, now I need a new spot._

Bobby continued to drive, turning on his high-beams where the overgrowing trees blocked out what little sun was still out. He debated turning back; he still needed to get dinner, and it was getting far too late. Bobby would have called, but he didn't know Adam's number, or if he even had a phone. Thankfully, Bobby came across a dark, overgrown space far away from the hiking trail. It was perfect, but Bobby felt tired as it was. He could only think of the work ahead, the long drive back, and whatever disaster Adam cooked up when he got home. Adam was a Winchester, and thus meant he couldn't "Be good" for more than two minutes.

With a sigh, Bobby grabbed his shovel and stepped out of the car. The smell of the rotting vampire corpse in the trunk was getting awfully strong, after all.

* * *

Bobby was lost. Not literally; Sioux Falls wasn't that large, and Bobby knew every oak that grew there. But he wasn't sure what to buy for dinner. Last time he had a teenager in his house, it was Sam, who had given his vote on dinner choices to Dean, who asked for bacon cheeseburgers, which Bobby denied because they ate that last time. Bobby wound up picking out some TV dinner, which Dean protested loudly to but ate anyways, and Sam said was fine, like every other meal they ate. Bobby was internally debating between chicken or pasta when he realized in horror his short errand run had come to almost five hours, and it was well into the night. A torrent of worst-case-scenarios flashed before his eyes.

"Screw it, I'm gettin' burgers."

* * *

Bobby, several bags in his arms, burst through the door. _Adam probably got ahold of a gun and shot himself, leading to him attempting to do his own stitches. Or he tried to summon a demon. Or he might have tried to—_

Bobby stopped suddenly. It was completely silent in the house. Normally with Sam and Dean this was a bad sign. But upon entering the study, he found Adam in a chair, a pile of the books Bobby gave around his feet, and one about the history of ghouls open in his lap. _He even snores like Dean_.

Maybe the kid wasn't so bad after all.


	5. Just a Little Hardheaded

**I've been going through a proactive phase. So why haven't I posted in a while? Because I've done literally everything but write. I cleaned out my whole room, all my school stuff, and managed to brush up on my current languages I've been learning (and I started Russian! ^v^ ).**

 **So, sorry for the delay. Just some more Bobby and Adam filler to satisfy your nerd needs. Not too sure where to go from this point on in the story—and you know what that means! REVIEWS! All reviews and suggestions are taken into consideration!**

 **And shout out to whoever recognizes the Monty Python reference I threw in!**

 **Enjoy, fellow nerds! And thanks for all your views, comments, and positive words of encouragement!**

 **I'll shut up now.**

 **~palmtreedragons**

* * *

Bobby was beginning to doubt that Adam was indeed a Winchester. He thought that both genetics and upbringing played an equally important role in who someone was, but some things you couldn't weed out with a good childhood. The Winchesters were known for their love for fights, alcohol, and cars, and their angsty, brooding selves.

Adam wasn't any of those things.

On the dawn of the second and final day of Adam's stay, Bobby suggested they go hunting. Not hunting for vamps or demons or any of that crap—just for some deer. A squirrel, maybe.

Back in the good ole' days when Sam and Dean were going through their "I hate my parental figures" phases, they would have protested loudly to this thought. They were itching to behead some creature, and the idea of wasting time, ammo, and resources on Bambi and his friends didn't sit well with them. They got that from John.

Adam, on the other hand, downed his cereal quite quickly—a very _Dean_ trait, if Bobby did say so himself—and nodded politely.

For once in his life, Bobby met a _polite_ Winchester. It was like being in the Twilight Zone.

So they began their trek. Bobby chose one of the closer routes to save time, all the while making small talk. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Adam; his brothers preferred to work in silence.

Bobby pointed to an upcoming tree. "A few years ago I turned my back for five minutes here, came back in just enough time to see Dean fall from the top branch."

Adam couldn't help but chuckle at the idea. Bobby could come in handy when it came to blackmail. . . .

"Yeah, those two knuckleheads hatched quite a lot of hair-brained schemes on my watch. Just glad you didn't turn out an idjit."

"What is an idjit?" Adam asked curiously.

"Keep quiet and keep moving."

Adam took heed of Bobby's command—yet another reason why Bobby began to doubt his heritage. They came to a pair of trees whose trunks were connected towards the ground, giving a perfect hiding spot to fire from. From the clearing between the trunks you could see a creek a few hundred yards ahead, frequently visited by forest critters. Bobby dropped his bag at the base of the truck, and took out a newspaper. He then sat on a stump nearby.

"Tell me when you get somethin'," He called, before indulging himself in the sports column. Time passed. The sound of birds in the distance, the creek just over yonder, and the faint crinkle the paper made when a breeze passed—

And the sound of three gunshots. Bobby forgot Adam was even there. (Sam and Dean made themselves known when they were forced to participate in something they didn't want to do.) Bobby could hear the light sound of hooves rustling leaves as a deer scampered away. Half his mind would have given Adam some words about how easy it was to shoot something oblivious to you even being there, but another noise caught his attention soon after the shot.

Adam, wincing, grabbed at his forearm. Bobby abandoned the paper and stood up. "You alright, kid?"

"Yeah," Adam muttered. "Just a little sore."

"Let me look." Bobby made his way to the Winchester and rolled up his sleeve. Below the thin jacket was a thick bandage covering the inside of his arm. Bobby let a few choice words escape him, before returning his attention to Adam. "Where'd you get this?"

Adam shrugged in a way that was meant to play down the severity of the wound, but the tenseness in his figure as his shoulders rose and dropped betrayed him. "A ghoul got to me. Nothing too bad."

Bobby blinked at him, dropping the arm. "'Not too bad?' Kid, when Dean was your age he would use a paper cut as an excuse to get out of doing chores. You have a gash in your arm that can't be more than a few months old."

Adam gave a weak smirk. "It's just a flesh wound."

Bobby chuckled lightly. "You thought shooting a gun with an injury like that would be smart?"

"I guess I didn't really think that through," he admitted in a small voice.

Bobby couldn't help but admire the kid. Not even half a year ago his world was completely turned upside down. Orphaned, immersed in the crazy world of hunting, and still trying to prove himself. Bobby picked up his bag. "Want some burgers?"

"Oh, yeah."

* * *

"You got _stabbed?"_

"Yeah," Adam smirked into his beer. "It sounds a lot worse than it was. Sam's good at stitches, so that helped."

"You got stabbed!" Bobby repeated, as if he didn't hear what the boy had uttered. This kid was full of surprises.

They were in the kitchen, enjoying a good meal of burgers, beer, and gossip. Adam lifted his shirt and grinned, showing off his battle wound. It wasn't the worst wound in history, but getting stabbed in the gut wasn't something to be taken lightly. Adam was grinning, though, like a small child proud of something they did.

Bobby let out a low whistle. "Damn, kid. I've gotta say, you surprised me. You should stop by more often."

Something in Adam's face fell, and he was quick to put up a watery smile. He let his shirt drop as he sat back in his chair, suddenly quiet. It took Bobby a minute to realize what was going through the kid's head. To a young Sam and Dean, Bobby was like the one uncle or granddad that they thought was lame. They liked him, but they would never admit it until they were older. And here Adam was, not wanting to leave.

It was all very confusing.

"Yeah. I guess Sam and Dean will be here to pick me up tomorrow.

"They're a bit stubborn," Bobby said after a moment of quiet. "They don't like change much. Sam, he'll be nice and kind and all, but he won't really open up for a while. Dean," Bobby let out a long sigh. "Dean's a whole other story."

"He doesn't like me." Adam admitted. He quickly continued before Bobby could reply. "I mean, he likes me, but he doesn't, you know? It's like he only keeps me around because he's being nice and doesn't want to kick me to the curb." Adam's words came out in a rush, and he took a moment to collect himself. "I wouldn't be here if John wasn't our dad, that's for sure."

Bobby sat for a long moment, pondering the young man's statement. "Probably," he said finally.

Adam blinked. "What?"

Bobby shrugged his shoulders. "You want me to tell you you're wrong? Because that's probably it. Those two don't just take in victims and teach them how to hunt. This would all be different if you weren't related."

Adam nodded slightly, accepting the depressing news. But Bobby continued.

"But you're not a stranger. You're a Winchester. They aren't taking you in because they're being nice; Winchesters aren't nice often. They're taking you in because you're their brother. And I know they're being distant and all that crap. They're hardheaded. And stubborn. And you should be great at this hunting thing, having them teach you."

Adam was looking at Bobby now, a little hopeful. Bobby allowed himself a small smile. "It is a family business, after all."

* * *

Sam and Dean let themselves into Bobby's the next morning. They knew Bobby when he was angry, and they hoped Adam didn't drive him insane.

"Bobby?" Dean called out in his usual gruff tone, surveying room to room. Sam ventured into the kitchen, Dean following his lead. Sam picked up a discarded wrapper from the table, showing it to Dean in disbelief. "

"They had burgers," he stated, sharing a confused look with Dean. Maybe Adam got along with Bobby better than they had hoped.

Then they heard laughing. Sam and Dean stealthily made their way to the back porch, opening the door. Sitting in two chairs were Adam and Bobby, chatting and whittling blocks of wood.

Adam looked up at them with a smile. "Oh, hey guys."

Sam and Dean slowly exchanged another look.

"He's whittling," Sam whispered in a slightly scared tone.

"Yeah," Dean whispered back, equally afraid. Bobby only whittled when he was exceptionally happy, and usually when no one was around. Dean then said to the man, "Who are you, and what have you done with Bobby Singer?"

Bobby and Adam chuckled. Together. In synchronization. Like they were _best friends_.

"Adam," Sam breathed, "you're a miracle worker."

"It's called manners, idjit." Dean nearly fainted when he realized it was not Bobby who had spoken.


	6. Lucifer Rising: Part One

**Sooooooooooooooo incredibly sorry you guys. I've been sick af recently, and my makeup work has been killing me. And I missed a high school orientation thing, so that sucked. And today just hasn't been good to me at all. And to top it all off, I became addicted to American Horror Story instead of doing my school work. (I'm already almost done wth season 4 and it's been six days since I started the show whoops.)**

 **Enough complaining! I reward all you loyal readers with not drabbles, not fluff, but intense plot related stuff! It's loosely going to follow the season four finale. Not sure how I'm gonna end it though (psst that means you guys should review). And this will be part one of two, possibly three.**

 **Once again, I own no characters or plot or anything except what I changed, yada yada yada.**

 **REVIEW YOU GUYS THANKS!**

 **~palmtreedragons**

* * *

The hotel was dark, dusty, and Western. Adam hated it. From the cowboy printed peeling wallpaper to the galloping horses that decorated the curtains, now drawn over the window facing the dark outside. Adam rolled onto his side, cursing the fact that he had to share a bed. Sam and Dean had found it was hard to get three beds, or two beds and a couch that wasn't too disgusting, so they had taken to flipping a coin. The loser had to shack up with their little brother. Adam, his head at the foot of the bed much like a dog, wondered if he would ever get a say in these descisions in the future.

And he wasn't sure why he was up far into the night. Or why Sam was, for that matter. Tonight Sam was the unlucky brother, and Adam could feel the bed shift as he lifted himself. Keeping quiet, Adam heard the light tread that his brothers had acquired through their skill, and the opening and closing of the rickety door. Adam only had a moment to think before he heard a soft sigh from the bed next to his own. Dean must have taken notice of Sam's absence. Adam debating asking, wondered if he would even get an answer.

A long moment passed. Adam thought Dean might've fallen back asleep. "What's with Sam?" Adam's voice was just above a whisper, but it seemed like the loudest thing he'd heard in ages.

Dean made a sort of grunting noise. He groaned slightly, lifting his head and squinting in the darkness at the vague figure near his feet. "What?" he croaked.

"Sam," Adam said once more. "He's been acting weird. I get you guys have your secrets, things you don't want to tell me, but I just want to know."

Dean sat up. Adam waited, his head still on the flat and bumpy pillow he was using. "I guess it's time we told you," Dean relented. "But it's not pretty."

"Is it ever?" Adam knew what he was getting into was serious when Dean didn't laugh.

"We're trying to stop Lucifer from getting released from Hell." Adam chose to stay in quiet, sure that whatever he would say would sound stupid from his brother's perspective. "Lilith, _the_ Lilith, is doing these things, breaking seals that keep Lucifer in Hell. We need to stop her, but the only one who's strong enough is Sam."

"How?" Adam had seen a lot in the past few months. His own mother had been eaten by a monster, demons and angels and now Lucifer himself were real. So he had forced himself into the mindset of not why, but what next. No inquiries, just the questions needed to be asked. Since he had begun this, Sam and Dean had found him considerably less annoying.

"Demon's blood," was Dean's reply. "There's this demon, Ruby. She's been helping us get intel on the demonic gossip; she give us that demon ganking knife."

"You trust her?" Adam asked cautiously. He still couldn't sleep well since his last run in with a demon.

"About as far as I can throw her," Dean confided. "Sam seems to think she's the best thing that's happened to us. I don't know. . . ."

The two let themselves lapse into silence. Adam had just begun to grasp the concept of all these new ideas, these simple jobs where his brothers swooped in in shining armor and saved the day from some rogue creature. But he had never thought things had been this important. Lucifer himself. That could be the life of millions in their hands, and yet they only seemed minorly phased, if at all.

"Do you believe in God?"

"What?" Dean murmured blurrily from where he had laid back down on his bed. He was already almost asleep.

"Do you believe in God?"

Dean had found the word "No" escaping his lips before he had given it a second thought.

Adam frowned, an action that was lost in the darkness. Dean's breaths grew shallower and slower. "Why?" he whispered, his eyes open but seeing only the near-black ceiling.

"Because no angel's heard from him in ceturies." Dean said, his voice low and gruff and tinged with sleepy annoyance. He then added, "If God was around, he would be an dick if he let things get this bad. You see a lot of good people die doing this job. There's not a lot of things I'm grateful for, and they're all things I made for myself. So no, I don't believe in God."

It was quiet again. This time stretching into many minutes of the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the soft snoring of the eldest Winchester. Adam rolled onto his side, absentmindedly picking at the thin dingy sheets. "I do." He heard a snort come from Dean's bed. Adam ignored it. "With what you guys do, you're lucky to still be alive. I think you need something to believe in, even if you don't, really. Like kids and Santa Clause.

"Besides, I don't think it was just luck that I found you guys. A lot of stuff's happened, but it hasn't all been bad, has it?"

Dean didn't reply. Adam wasn't sure if it was because he had fallen asleep, or something else. He let the conversation die as Sam walked back into the room, and got back into bed.

* * *

The next morning Sam had gotten a lead on Lilith, Dean had gotten breakfast, and they were in the car by eight.

There was something to do with a murderous priest, or a rampaging teacher or the number 666, but Adam couldn't quite look at Sam the same. Back during his high school days, a handful of Adam's friends had fallen prey to the wonderful world or drugs. Adam immediately cut all ties with them once they tried to get some into his system, but he had seen them occasionally in the halls in the following years. Their eyes were dark, like bruises permanently held residence above their cheeks; their hands twitched uncontrollably; they looked like mice cornered by a malicious cat, with their beady eyes flickering to every passerby, waiting for their next hold on whatever they were on. Adam realized that Sam and his demon blood weren't that different—except for the fact that it was demon blood, of course.

Sam looked worse for wear, and his trips in the middle of the night didn't cease, but grew more frequent. Adam realized for the first time that he shared Dean's concerned and slightly abrasive look towards Sam when he saw Sam's hands shaking ever so slightly. Adam couldn't get the image of attending his one crack-head friend's funeral a few years ago out of his head. If it was possible to overdose on demon blood, Adam was sure Sam was reaching his limit.

Something in his stomach twisted when Dean told him the plan, but he knew if they didn't intervene Sam would slip through their fingers like water. Nine days after Adam first saw Sam sneak out, they locked him in Bobby's panic room.

* * *

Sam struggled against the restraints, hollering until his throat was soar. "Dean! Dean, come on, this is crazy! I'm not the bad guy here!"

"Oh, but aren't you?" a cool voice called from across the room. Sam craned his neck to properly see the figure the voice belonged to.

"Dean! Why are you doing this?"

Dean was currently lounging against the wall, a sneer cast on his face. "Why? Because you're a monster, Sam. A filthy monster—"

"Dean," Sam gasped. It felt as if his very veins were on fire. "Don't say that. You don't mean it."

"Of course I do," Dean threw back. He fluidly pulled himself from the wall, slowly making his way towards Sam. "You're worse than the things we hunt, Sam. You're a full on freak."

Sam shook his head, as if doing it hard enough would block out Dean's harsh words. "Please. Please, tell me you don't mean that." But when Sam opened his eyes, Dean was gone.

* * *

Bobby and Dean were tensely sitting in Bobby's study, Sam's screams filing every corner of the room.

"This is killing him," Dean ground out, holding a beer bottle to his throbbing head. It wasn't the sound that was killing him, but the fact that his baby brother was in there, screaming his name, and there was nothing he could do.

"It's the only chance he's got," Bobby put in, looking equally miserable.

"I shouldn't have let it get this far. I should've known."

Bobby made a sound of impatience. "Well, there's nothing we can do now but wait."

Dean shook his head, unable to accept the fact that they couldn't help him. "Maybe Cas can do something?"

"Last I checked, that was a big fat 'No.'"

Dean rolled his eyes. "It wouldn't hurt, would it?" He took a swig from his beer, then glanced around the room. "Where's Adam?"

As much as he hated it, Dean advanced towards the agonizing screams. He found Adam, his head in his hands, sitting against the panic room's door.

"C'mon, Sam. We're here for you. But could you do us a favor and not scream so much? I know it's—" He abruptly cut off as he noticed Dean. He was on his feet in seconds, mumbling an apology.

Dean eyed him cautiously. "What are you doing?"

"I just . . . I figured having someone with him would help him."

Dean visibly relaxed. Maybe he was just paranoid, thinking Adam was going to set Sam loose. Or maybe he was just use to assuming the worst. Adam slowly slid down the wall, sitting back on the floor. Sam continued to scream, seemingly oblivious to his brothers ad their support just outside the door. Dean thought Adam was a good kid for staying with Sammy, but both would be deaf by the end of this whole ordeal if they stayed here.

Dean cleared his throat. "Wanna see an angel?"

Adam blinked with mild surprise, followed by a shrug. "Sure. Why not?"

* * *

Sam was tired. He was tire of the screaming, tired of the begging. So he just stayed there, no one coming to see him. Not since Dean, and Sam still wasn't sure if that was real or not. He hoped it wasn't. But when Sam heard footsteps, he groggily pulled his eyes open. Standing before him was Adam, a smirk plastered on his face.

"Adam." Sam's throat was raw, and he couldn't say much without inducing throat-burning coughs fits. "Help."

Adam slowly shop his head, _tsk_ ing with his tongue. "Oh, Sam. What did you get yourself into? I'm new to this and all, but I know for sure you're screwed. So tell me," Adam leaned over Sam, a relief to the later, as his neck hurt to move, "was it worth it?"

Sam blinked at him. "We had to stop Lilith. It's the only way—"

"That's what you said, a bajillion times, Sammy." Adam ruffled Sam's hair, before standing upright and pacing around the cot. "But you didn't answer my question. Was it worth it?"

"If we kill Lilith—"

Adam ignored him. "Dean told me. He said you left him for a normal life. That you turned your back on your family." Sam squeezed his eyes shut. "And yet the crazy just kept coming back, didn't it?"

"You're not real," Sam whispered.

"I might not be," Adam admitted, "but what you did was. You wanted to be normal. Seems fitting you'll die a freak."

"I'm not dying."

"Sure ya are. Maybe not now, but you'll throw yourself into danger sooner or later. You and Dean think you're invincible, but you're really not."

Adam stopped pacing just behind Sam's head. He leaned forward, so that Sam could see his upside-down face peering over him. "So? What's the answer? Was making yourself a monster worth it?"

* * *

Bobby walked outside, only going as far as the edge of his porch. It was dark now, the only light coming from inside the house. He regarded Dean screaming into the sky curiously. Turning, he saw Adam siting on the steps with a bored impression.

"He's trying to summon this Cas guy or whatever. It's not working."

" _Cas!_ " Dean screamed. " _I'm sure you've got a lot of shit goin' on right now, but get your feathery ass down here for Christ' sake!_ "

Bobby only nodded. "I can see that."

"It's kinda depressing," Adam admitted. "Angels and stuff. People pray and think they're wonderful, but if one we actually know can't bother to show up to help prevent the apocalypse? People like to think there's an angel watching over them, but. . . ." He trailed of with a frown. Bobby's eyebrows were becoming one wth his hairline.

"I got one Winchester screaming at the sky, another going through demon detox, and another having an existential crisis. If only I had know how much trouble you bunch were." He then turned and walked back inside, shaking his head.

Adam smirked, realizing just how crazy this all was. Lifting himself from the steps, he walked towards his older brother. "Maybe he's just busy. We can try tomorrow, right?"

Dean was out of breath, his face was red and his hair was sweaty, and he looked like a kicked puppy. "Yeah," he breathed. "I just thought this would be important enough to get Heaven's attention."

Adam nodded sullenly. "They seem like dicks."

Dean laughed heartily and with exhaustion. "That's what I like about you, kid." He threw his arm around Adam's shoulder as they both shuffled back towards the house. "You got my sense of humor. Sam can be a real stick in the mud sometimes, ya know? But you—"

The door suddenly swung open. Bobby stumbled out, eyes wide. "We have a problem."

Adam could hear Dean groan beside him. "Great. What's it this time? The sky falling? Snow in the Sahara?"

"Sam's gone."

And with that, all Hell broke loose. Literally.


	7. Lucifer Rising: Part Two

**A/N: I've been told that my notes are lengthy, so I'll keep it short: I'm back! So sorry for making you guys wait for part two, but I really like how it turned out.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything SUPERNATURAL except their merch.**

 **Toodles!**

 **~palmtreedragons**

* * *

Dean stared intently out the window. Bobby's eyes were locked on Dean in a glare. Adam watched the two with curiosity, sure that if he spoke at least one of them would bite his head off.

"I'm not gonna call him," Dean said suddenly.

Bobby swore under his breath. "Dammit, Dean. Just call him. He's your—"

"My what?" Dean asked heatedly, taking his eyes off the window and focusing them and their fury on Bobby. "My blood?"

"Your _brother_ ," Bobby finished. "We got enough on our plates as it is. If you would just suck it up and call him and apologize—"

"For trying to save his life?" Dean stood from his chair. "He's the one that's going to get himself killed, and suddenly _I'm_ the bad guy?"

"I never said that," Bobby grunted.

Dean glared at the old man, before stalking out of the room. "You didn't have to."

Bobby sighed and put his head in his hands. He was nearly drowning behind his desk in papers and various books. He looked tired, Adam thought distractedly.

"Are they always like this?" he asked tentatively.

"Nope," Bobby groaned. "Not usually, at least. They don't have many falling outs, but the ones they do have are bad. Dean hasn't been this angry at Sam since Stanford."

"Stanford?" Adam asked. Bobby raise his eyebrows incredulously, and Adam got the impression once again that he had been left in the dark about something huge. "What's Stanford?"

 _"'What's Stanford?'"_ Bobby repeated. "Gosh, they really don't tell you anything, do they?"

Adam frowned. "I guess not."

Bobby leaned back in his chair and set his boots on his desk. A few papers slipped into the floor, and he looked at them with distain. "It was a few years back. Sam ran away from Dean and your dad to go to college. Can't say I blame the kid, but I can't blame Dean, either."

"He ran away?" Adam had known from the get-go that Sam wasn't as enthusiastic about hunting as Dean was. But he also knew that next to nobody could be as close as the Winchester brothers. Adam never imagined that they had fights between each other.

Bobby nodded. "Yup. You're father practically disowned him. It nearly killed Dean, too. Only reason Sam came back was because Dean begged him to help look for John when he went missing."

Adam felt more stupid than ever. "John went missing?"

Bobby let out a frustrate sigh. "We should be getting hits on Sam, not recapping the Winchester family drama."

Adam nodded, apologizing as he buried his face in a book about demons or some thing like them. He couldn't concentrate on the text, as hard as he tried. He could only wonder what else he had been left in the dark about, and why neither of his brothers thought it important to tell him.

* * *

Dean came back an hour later with a six-pack of beer. "It's a peace offering," he muttered to a surprised Bobby as he passed him in the kitchen. Dean hurried to put the drinks in the fridge and grab his duffle before heading back out the door. "C'mon, Adam."

"What?" Adam asked stupidly to Dean's retreating back. He hurried out the door, not before giving a shy wave to Bobby. It was noon, and outside the impala gleamed in the sunlight. "Where are we going?"

"Hunting for Sam," was all Dean would say. Adam didn't feel like pressing Dean would be appreciated. And the ride from then on was in, like usual, silence.

"Do you know where Sam is?" Adam asked once they hit the highway.

"No." Adam continued to sit awkwardly in the backseat. First he counted the dashes in the road. He then looked for license plates.

"What happened to John?"

"What?" Dean called gruffly from the front seat.

Adam sat up straight. "John. Bobby said he went missing a while back. And that Sam left. . . ."

Dean viewed Adam through the mirror. It was in that moment Adam realize that Dean intimidated him.

"It's what it sounds like. Simple as that."

Adam let his curiosity rule over his common sense, and kept talking. "But why? I mean—why did Sam leave? And what happened to our dad? It can't—"

"In case you couldn't tell, Sam doesn't like our family that much," Dean snapped. "And dad was an ass who left his family to hunt. Simple as that."

Adam knew he had trekked into dangerous land, and let silence fall once more. He busied himself with watching the cars pass by. He let Dean sit and seethe in quiet.

* * *

"Hello, Dean."

Thirty minutes later, Dean nearly wrecked the car, due to the unfamiliar voice and Adam's scream. Twisting in his seat, Dean saw Adam pressed against the car door and a familiar face sitting in the middle of the backseat. "Cas?"

The angel gave a small, simple smile. "Yes."

Adam looked between the two, panic and confusion written clearly across his face. "Cas? The angel Cas? Like, the dude you've been talking about for the past few days?"

Castiel turned his head. He regarded Adam as if just noticing he was there. "Dean, who is this?"

Dean reluctantly tore his eyes away from the backseat and onto the road. The last thing they needed was to die in a car crash. "He's my brother. _Half_ -brother."

Adan squirmed under the angel's intense stare. He imagined angels as . . . well, something heavenly. This Castiel just seemed like any other man. After a long moment, Castiel shifted his attention back to Dean.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean inquired angrily. "I could've used your help a while back."

"I'm sorry," Castiel apologized. Adam took note of the monotone voice and neutral expression; it was as if he lacked emotion. "But I have news. I found Sam."

* * *

Dean gunned it all the way to St. Mary's, where Sam and this Ruby were trying to kill Lilith. Shortly after his announcement, Castiel had promptly left, leaving Adam to deal with a furious, cursing brother. "Never here when you need him, always here when you don't."

Pulling up to the old church, Adam braced himself for the fight ahead. He didn't need anything else for Dean to hate him for. Dean got out of the car, and Adam followed in suit.

"You're staying here," Dean ordered as he headed to the trunk. He opened it, pulling out a few guns and the demon knife.

"What?" Adam exclaimed. "No way. I'm coming with you."

"No, you're _not_." Dean slammed the trunk closed. "This isn't some vampire or some demon. It's _Lilith_."

"More the reason why you need more help. I know I'm not the best, but I can fight." Dean walked toward the church, and Adam stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "I want to help."

"I don't need your help!" Dean shouted. "For once, Adam, just do as you're told. I don't want you to be in there."

Adam squared his jaw. He was tired of letting his brothers decide everything for him. "I want to help. I'm your brother, Dean—"

When Dean spoke, it was with chilling calmness. "The only thing we share is blood. Nothing more." He then stepped around Adam, and headed into the church alone.

* * *

Adam sat in the car and waited.

 _The only thing we share is blood. Nothing more._

He knew that Dean and Sam weren't particularly fond of him, but this was a new low. For one of the first times since his mother's death, he felt alone. He thought he could connect to his brothers, but instead he wound up being the third wheel. Maybe after this was all over he would leave. He could live a normal life. Maybe he would give Bobby a call every now and then.

And then Adam heard a scream from inside the church. He flung himself out of the car, gun in hand and all bitter thoughts abandoned. His feet pounded against the stone flooring, and he strained his ears to ear where the last traces of the echoing scream came from. He turned a corner, and saw the battleground.

It was a simple room, just like any other in the church. Laying just in the doorway was an unfamiliar woman, her chest a bloody mess that stained her dress and light hair. She looked perfectly ordinary, yet so did Castiel. Adam figured that it must be Lilith. His eyes traveled farther into the room, and only a few yards away lay Sam in a growing pool of crimson. Adam's stomach plummeted to his feet, and his eyes frantically searched for Dean. He found him to the right, pulling the demon knife out of a woman's chest. Adam distantly recognized her as Ruby, the one who Sam took off with.

"Dean?" Adam choked out. As much as he hoped not, Sam looked like he was dead. Dean turned and faced Adam, and with horror he saw red down Dean's shirt. The dead demon Ruby must have harmed Dean.

"Adam?" Dean mumbled weakly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Before Adam could step over Lilith's corpse, Dean fell to the floor. Time seemed to stop as Adam raced past the bodies to his brothers. Adam hastily knelt by Sam, and tried to get a pulse. Adam bit his lip when he couldn't find one. He rose once more, and made his way towards Dean. He slipped in someone's blood—he couldn't tell whose for the life of him—and fell to his knees. Dean's breathing was shallow and rattling, and Adam tried to find some way to carry him out.

Looking up, Adam took notice of the many pools of blood, all flowing to the front of the room. Each stream came together to form a perfect spiraling circle, and Adam winced as bright light shone from the intricate pattern. Something wasn't right.

Adam quickly forgot about the mysterious blood. Dean had stopped breathing.

"No," he whispered. "No—Dean? Don't die. Please, Dean. _Dean!"_

* * *

 _Ten Months Later_

Sam bolted upright with a gasp. He saw flashes of a fight: Lilith dead; Ruby's betrayal; a knife in his back. But he quickly realized he wasn't there. Blinking, he held up a hand to block the bright sun. There was a slight breeze. He was outside somewhere, and he could hear the serene sound of leaves rustling on trees.

"Am I dead?" Sam whispered to himself.

"No. But you were."

Sam turned, and found a figure standing in front of him. "Dean?"

Dean extended a hand, pulling Sam to his feet. Sam quickly pulled Dean into a hug.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam said quickly. "It's all my fault. I should've known."

Dean gave a half-smile. "Yeah, well, even I didn't see that coming."

"I was dead," Sam stated simply.

"We both were."

Sam looked at him in confusion. "You died too?" His brother nodded.

Sam suddenly realized someone was missing. "Adam. Where is he?"

Dean shrugged. Sam thought that his brother looked regretful. "I don't know. Wherever he is, I hope he got away from hunting. I hope he's safe."

Sam looked around. They seemed to be in some sort of field. There was a dirt road roughly a hundred yards to their right. There wasn't much else beside trees and dirt and plants. "Who brought us back?"

Dean looked suspicious. "Who and _why_."

"That would be me," an accented voice spoke behind them. The two turned and saw a short, smiling man standing before them.

"Who are you?" Dean asked cautiously. "And what do you want?"

The man took a step forward. "What I want is to make a deal with you two—a very good one, might I add—before God's goons try and find you."

"So you're a demon," Sam guessed.

The man laughed cheerfully. "Well, yes! Of course I'm a demon. I'm the bloody King of Hell!"

Dean gave a dry laugh. "Never heard of you."

The man closed the gap between the pair, extending a hand for greeting. "The name's Crowley."


	8. Framed Photograph

"Crowley?" Dean asked hesitantly, regarding the extended hand with cold eyes. "You want to make a deal with us?"

The demon smiled. "Yes. And I think you and Moose will find it to your liking."

"Moose?" asked Sam in confusion. He looked to Dean, who only shrugged.

"Perhaps we should go somewhere more private," Crowley suggested. With a snap of his fingers, the three were no longer in the field. Instead they were in a large, grand study. On the far wall, a fireplace roared, and a desk stood before it. Crowley made his way behind the ornate oak desk. On one wall was a large portrait of the demon. Sam observed two men, stoic faced and dressed in black, standing behind them on either side of the only door exiting the room. "Do you like it? I find that you can only do your best while surrounded by the best."

Dean inspected the various antiques covering the room, some looking ancient. Sam only had eyes for Crowley. "The deal?"

"Right." Crowley sat down in his chair, propping his feet up on the desk's surface. With a wave of his hand, two chairs appeared behind the brothers. "Sit."

"I'd rather stand," Sam said coldly. Personally, Dean would have liked to sit, but he settled on standing with his brother. "What do you want?"

"To put it simply: I want you to kill Lucifer."

"Lucifer?" Dean questioned. "Isn't he, like, the king of Hell itself?"

" _I'm_ the king of Hell," Crowley reminded. "And it's the least you two goons could do, setting him free and all."

Sam suddenly looked immensely guilty. "That's right," he mumbled. "I broke the last seal. I let Lucifer out of his cage."

"What, he's just running around free?" inquired Dean. "No one's stopped him?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "There's a lot more to it than killing, Squirrel."

"Squirrel?" Dean muttered, bristling.

Crowley continued. "Hell is divided into two at the moment: those who follow that bastardly fallen angel," Crowley removed his feet from his desk and leaned forward in his chair, "and those who follow me."

"Who's winning?" Dean questioned.

Crowley shrugged indifferently. "Fifty-fifty. But I need your help smiting Lucifer. It's obvious that only bad will come from him ruling."

Sam's brows furrowed with confusion. "You're a demon. Shouldn't you _like_ Lucifer?"

Crowely sighed. "That's like saying all Americans have to like the president. Besides—I'm a businessman. It's all about making deals, taking souls. Having Lucifer around means competition. I've reigned while that barbaric animal was stuck in his cage," Crowley sneered. "I don't plan on losing my followers—my _throne_ —because of him.

"Also, his plans don't stop with annihilating mankind. Once you lot are dead and gone, he's going to come after demons. And I'm most likely on the top of that list. So I need you to kill him."

"What's in it for us?" Dean asked.

Crowley smirked. "You'll be heroes, you'll stop the apocalypse, and, most importantly, I'll owe you."

Sam and Dean exchange a meaningful glance. Dean slightly nodded. Sam took a deep breath, and turned towards Crowley. "Alright. How do we do it?"n

Crowely grinned. He made a show of pulling a key from his pocket, then unlocking one of the drawers in his desk. He removed a small black box and set it on the top of his desk. He slowly removed the lid, and produced a gun.

"The Colt," Dean whispered in shock.

"The one and only," Crowley grinned.

"Where'd you get it?" Sam's voice was dripping with mistrust. "The last person we saw with that was—"

"Bella?" Crowley asked, already knowing the answer. "Yes. She gave me possession of this relic. She was a lovely lad, really. Unfortunate she had to die." Crowley didn't look that moved. He tossed the gun to Sam, who nearly dropped it due to shock.

"You must really trust us," Sam said, analyzing the Colt in his hands. In the blink of an eye, he raised the gun towards Crowley and pulled the trigger.

It clicked blankly.

"Whoops," Crowely said, his voice and expression devoid of all emotion except humor, as if he expected nothing less. "Forgot the ammo." He reached into the black box that held the gun and produced a small pack of the Colt's special bullets, which he then tossed to Sam.

Sam looked bewildered, wondering if Crowley had a death wish. "You still trust us?"

This earned another shrug from the demon. "Not really, but I'll take my chances. You kill Lucifer, and I can handle you two. You fail, and we'll all die."

Dean solemnly looked at Crowley. "We'll kill him."

"Good," Crowley smiled. He suddenly seemed to remember something. "Oh. You'll probably want to know that you've been dead for nearly ten months."

 _"What?"_ Dean exclaimed.

Crowley waved. "See ya, laddies."

With that, Sam and Dean were teleported somewhere entirely familiar.

* * *

Sam and Dean looked around, immediately recognizing their surroundings.

"Bobby's," Dean breathed with relief. He started towards the front door, but Sam held him back with a hand on his shoulder.

"Woah, Dean, just wait a second." Sam stuffed the Colt in the back of his waistband. _"Ten months?_ That's a lot of time. A lot can change."

Dean didn't look concerned. "Sam, in all the time we've known Bobby, he hasn't changed a bit, from the clothes to the attitude to his unexplainable love for daytime television." He then confidently continued to the front porch, Sam suspiciously following. It was a bit too generous of Crowley to drop them off exactly where they needed to go. Sam was still reeling from the last time he trusted a demon.

Dean grinned as he rapped on the door. He chuckled to himself as he and his brother heard muttering from behind the door. Even Sam had to smile at that.

"Who the hell's there?" came Bobby's gruff, accusing voice. The door swung open, and Dean's smile was wiped from his face. It was still Bobby, in all his rugged, tough, loving glory. But Dean's eyes immediately traveled to the wheelchair he was in, and he couldn't find himself to speak.

"Sam? Dean?"

Sam, too, seemed trouble by Bobby's condition, but managed to make out a small "Hey, Bobby."

Bobby stared, wide-eyed at the two, who stared back. They stayed like that for a long moment, before Bobby finally asked "Is anyone gonna give me an explanation?"

Sam gave a slightly forced smile. "If you give us a beer, sure."

Bobby smiled, but his eyes held suspicion and caution. Sam had no doubt that Bobby would slip holy water into their beers, but they had nothing to hide.

* * *

"You made a deal with _Crowley?"_ Bobby shouted. He had stayed silent while Sam recounted their brief time not dead. Dean, too, hadn't said a word. He simply nursed his bottle beer, staring off in thought.

Sam shrugged. "He seemed like our best option. You know him?"

"Do I—?" Bobby stopped abruptly, seeming enraged. "Yeah, I know the sick-o. You guys have been gone a while. You missed a lot."

"Then maybe you should tell us," Sam suggested.

Dean finally spoke, his voice gruff and monotone. "Starting with what happened to you."

Bobby stared at Dean for a long moment. "I tried to take down Lucifer."

"By yourself?"

"Yes, Sam," Bobby groaned. "I thought I could take him down with my good looks. Of course not, ya idjit! I went with—"

Dean and Sam stared at Bobby, giving him all their attention. His face was suddenly creased with sadness. "With who?"

Bobby wheeled himself into his study, and Sam and Dean followed. It was a mess of books and papers, and the brothers took note that anything above Bobby's reach from his chair was untouched and dusty. Bobby somberly lifted a framed photo off his desk, looking at it with sorrow and regret. "We thought we could take him. We had a plan but—it all went to, for lack of better words, hell." Bobby sighed. "It was a disaster. I'm the only one that made it. . . ."

Sam and Dean let him trail off. They didn't press him when he set the photo back down on his desk and headed towards his room. They let him go, and Dean slowly walked up to the photo to examine who was now gone. Sam heard Dean's sharp intake of breath, and walked up behind him.

The photo was old, bent, and faded, and was taken in Bobby's study. Sam looked nostalgically as Bobby, Jo, Ellen, Cas, and Adam smiled back.

* * *

 **So, what did you think? This chapter was originally going to be longer, but I decide to split it into two parts. I'm always looking for advice and reviews and suggestions, guys! What do you think happened? What do you think _will_ happen?**

 **~palmtreedragons**


	9. Angels and Demons

Dean blinked in shock. Many shocks, actually. He was still reeling from Bobby's new (at least, new to himself) handicap. And news of some of his closest friends' deaths weren't helping. But the biggest shock was that he was no longer standing beside Sammy in Bobby's house. He was in a bright, small room. The walls were painted with detailed murals, and a grand fireplace was against one wall. Dean turned and saw a short man with receding hair smiling back.

"You must be confused," the man stated.

Dean nodded, at a loss for words. "Yeah."

"My name's Zachariah." Zachariah extended his hand. Dean made no move to shake it.

"You're an angel."

Zachariah frowned, letting his hand fall to his side. "And you're a Winchester. We both need each other's help. I think we can make a deal."

Dean eyed him cautiously. "What kind of deal?"

Zachariah folded his hands. "I'm sure you and your brother are confused, being alive and all. But let me put this as simply as I can: Heaven and Hell are at war."

"Yeah," Dean muttered, "I got that much. But what do you need from me?"

Zachariah raised his hand. "I was just getting there. You see, having Lucifer on the run is bad. And the only one who can kill him is Michael. But Michael needs a vessel. One that can be strong enough to contain him. . . ." Zachariah took a few slow steps forward.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Me?"

"Any Winchester, really. But you're preferred."

"So I'm suppose to willingly become Michael's vessel?"

The angel before him shrugged. "Well, that would be easy."

"And what if I say no? You can't force me."

"Well," the angel replied darkly, "we'll just ask your brother instead."

"Any Winchester," Dean muttered under his breath. "Sam wouldn't—"

Dean was interrupted by a low rumbling. The room began to shake, and Zachariah looked concerned.

"What? You don't get earthquakes up here?"

Zachariah looked at Dean—or rather, somewhere _behind_ Dean—and his eyes went wide. The room began to glow with intense bright light, before it was impossible for Dean to keep his eyes open any longer. The last thing Dean was aware of before he lost consciousness was a familiar hand on his shoulder.

* * *

"He can't have gone far," Bobby reassured.

Sam kept his eyes trained on his laptop's screen, looking for anything to show for his brother's disappearance. "If that was an angel or a demon, he could be halfway around the world by now. Or maybe not even on this world." Bobby sighed. The kid had a point. He watched as Sam furiously typed away. Letting out a sigh of aggravation, Sam slammed the laptop shut. "It's no use. He's gone."

"We'll just have to wait," Bobby decided.

Sam turned to him accusingly. "Fill me in."

"What?"

"Fill me in on what happened while Dean and I were gone. What happened to our _friends_."

Bobby looked tired. Sam felt distantly sorry for dogging his surrogate father, but he needed answers.

"Two months ago," Bobby began, "we tracked down where Lucifer was hiding. His current vessel was growin' weak, and he needed . . . well, he needed a Winchester."

"What?" asked Sam in confusion.

Bobby went on. "Somethin' about the Winchester bloodline—it makes you able to withstand being Lucifer or Michael's vessel."

"Back up," Sam said slowly, raising a hand. "Michael?"

"He's the only one who can smite Lucifer. But he needs you or Dean or Adam—" Bobby stopped suddenly. Sam waited patiently for Bobby to gain his bearings. "We tried to stop him. He killed Jo and Ellen first—then he took Adam."

"And your legs?" Sam asked hesitantly.

Bobby took a deep breath. "Lucifer has an inner circle of workers—his most trusted allies. Not all are demons; some are humans or rebelling angels. They do anything from spying to dirty work. There's only a handful, but you don't wanna mess with them." Bobby left the rest to Sam's imagination.

Sam rubbed at his eyes. "Bobby, I'm so—"

"So what?" Bobby snapped. " _Sorry?_ What are you sorry for, Sam? Setting Lucifer free? Dying? Screwing up again?"

Sam casted his eyes downward, accepting his lecture. "Yeah. All that and more."

Bobby shook his head slowly. "I'll help you find Dean, but when this is all over," Bobby warned, "I don't ever want to see you here again."

"I—" Sam stopped himself from saying sorry again. Apologizing would get him nowhere. "Okay."

* * *

Dean gasped and bolted upright, quickly shaking the sleep off of him. He was on the ground somewhere. Looking around, he observed a barren room. Its lone window had the shades drawn, and the only door was closed. The walls were unpainted, and the wooden floor creaked with Dean's every move.

"You're awake."

Dean turned around, facing the origin of the low voice. "Cas," he breathed in relief. "Bobby said you were dead."

"I was." Castiel was leaning against the wall, coldly regarding Dean. "Like you, I am unaware of my sudden resurrection."

"I know who brought me and Sam back," Dean stated, rising to a standing position. "It was this guy named Crowley."

This stirred a reaction in the angel. He took a step forward. "Dean, you can't trust him."

"Story of my life," Dean mumbled. "He just wants me and Sam to kill Lucifer. He even gave us the Colt—"

"The Colt's useless, Dean."

Dean was a moment away from asking how Castiel knew, but he found himself asking a more important question. "Where are we?"

"A safe house. I cannot tell you where."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Great. So you kidnapped me?"

"I _saved_ you from Lucifer's followers."

"Great, because I can't hold off a few Satanists."

The sarcasm only seemed to make Castiel more irritated. "These aren't just some killers, Dean. They're assassins, and they're deadly. They killed Jo and Ellen, and what they did to Bobby and your brother—"

"Adam." Dean accepted the fact that Lucifer's goons were bad news, especially if they managed to take down four of the best hunters he's ever known and an angel. But hearing Castiel say his brother's name struck a chord inside him. "Bobby said he's dead."

Castiel frowned. "Adam is not dead, Dean. He's gone."

Dean felt his heart flutter. Adam wasn't dead. "What do you mean, 'gone'? He's not dead, right, Cas?"

"No," admitted Castiel begrudgingly. "He's worse."

* * *

 **Heeeeeeyyyyyoooooo everyone! Oof, what a cliffy? What do you think happened to Adam?**

 **A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting, but I should be able to update weekly from now on.**

 **Reviews and comments are awesome, guys! I _LOVE_ reading what you guys have to say!**

 **~palmtreedragons**


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